


Case 0575991 (An Old Man)

by Infini (Infini_noodle)



Category: SCP Foundation, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon-Typical Jon Sims Dryness, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Horror, its the crossover no one asked for but i cannot stop thinking about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 07:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20617100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infini_noodle/pseuds/Infini
Summary: Statement of Abraham Monson, regarding an incident during his childhood while trick-or-treating. Original statement given October 30th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.Statement begins.Jon reads a statement.





	Case 0575991 (An Old Man)

**Case 0575991 - AUDIO RECORDING**

* * *

Statement of Abraham Monson, regarding an incident during his childhood while trick-or-treating. Original statement given October 30th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

* * *

  
I just couldn't take it anymore. You know? Not… not talking about it. It's the fall. It's always fall that brings it about, the memories, the _guilt_, the...

You couldn't know, obviously, I've got to tell you first. Don’t roll your eyes at me.

But it hurts. Talking about it. _Thinking_ about it. I don't know how many other people here have told you something like that. Maybe I'm not so unique after all. It doesn't make a difference in how my mind gets around this kind of year. I think it's.. post-traumatic or whatever.

Right.

Tomorrow's Halloween. You know, people say that's the best holiday, mostly because there isn't any -- any obligation to be crammed in a minivan to visit extended family you barely know, or a need to force a big dinner where everyone sits together and argues politics, or the stress of having to pick a gift for a friend who's going to throw the thing out in a few months anyway.

It used to be my favorite holiday when I was very little. Not just because of the candy though that was a big part. Obviously. It was also the only time of the year where my brother and I could go running around the neighborhood as we pleased without having to endure our parents' stilted custody meetings.

Ahmed was older than me by half a month. He and I were split between my parents after they divorced, but we were so young when it happened, I don't remember a time before we were separate. We didn't know what was going on with our parents, really, and even if we did I don't think we would have cared that much. Messy family dynamics never stopped us from having fun whenever we got the chance to talk to each other.

Halloween to a seven year old is hyped up as all hell. Ahmed and I would spend months prior planning our costumes, which would invariably be marching or part of a duo -- it got us more candy that way, the cute factor. Our parents would let us walk around the neighborhood so long as we stayed three blocks from our house, mostly because they were too exhausted and absorbed with their own bitter rivalry to keep track of us the whole night. Ahmed and I were twin scourges, scouring the land for sweets and neighbors to swindle them from, and we were masterminds at our craft. At least that's how I saw it at the time.

It was a particularly chilly October that year. I remember because we both were given massive, puffy coats to shield us from the chill. I didn't mind because -- hey, more pockets, more nooks and crannies to hide sneaked extra pieces, or the occasional interesting trinket I spotted on the ground. The sun was dipping by the horizon by the time my mother tiredly stuck a plastic pumpkin basket in my hand and a box of bandages in the other, and it painted the whole town in a warm orange glow.

Ahmed and I were actually pirates that year. Funny looking back. He had an eyepatch opposite my own, but otherwise we were identical. Ahmed's friends from school were also tagging along, and even though I was too shy to talk to them too long, they were enthusiastic enough about our "hunt".

We set out with a plan in mind. Ms. Harper's house, because she was a kindergarten teacher, and therefore a big softie for cute kids asking for treats. Then we could hit up the Lanes on the street with the big black dog behind the fence that Cindy, Ahmed's self-professed girlfriend, claimed would eat trespassers if they went into the backyard. We'd wind our way around the town, reaching as far as we could go without breaking the 3-block rule, then circle back in to organize our candy. Some of the houses on the outskirts were in proximity to the thick wooded area near the local park, and we were stretching it a little by going there, but we figured if no one found out, it didn't count as a rule break really.

Ms. Harper's house was blue. I remember that standing out to me. Robin's egg blue paint chipping off on the sides with a big white roof, flanked by tall pine trees and clipped hedges. By the time we'd gotten to her house night had fallen, and in the darkness the house cut a tall, imposing figure that made my stomach turn on itself in sudden anxiety.

I felt like I was looking up at the maw of an abandoned castle, or a haunted house, but I couldn't put it into words so I simply hung back and shuffled my feet. I think everyone else felt it too, because no one moved forward.

Cecil, the wizard of our group, finally volunteered to go forth. Pointed hat nearly engulfing his head, he strode forward with either steely resolve or nervous fear and knocked. Shave-and-a-haircut.

Ms. Harper opened the door. She immediately cooed, "what an adorable outfit, young man!" Cecil beamed at her, though his foot was tapping incessantly. Impatience maybe.

The lady turned around to gather her candy bowl, babbling about how nice this time of year was with all the kids having fun and making spooky costumes, and that's when I saw its shape lumbering toward us from the car end of the street.

I nearly didn't notice it. There were scant few light sources other than a street light or two, and the outline of the figure barely stood out from the backdrop of night. But there it was, something there, making slow but steady progress towards us. Something about it made me squeeze my hands into tight clenched fists.

Ms. Harper didn't notice, too busy handing Cecil a big lollipop from her antique cat-shaped bowl. Cecil looked like he wanted to haggle, but then he too caught a glimpse of the silhouette bearing down on him, and suddenly went quiet. His silence caught Ms. Harper's attention, and she followed her gaze to him and frowned.

"Excuse me," she said, "are you this child's guardian?"

It didn't sound like she believed her own words, but she said them anyway. The figure remained silent. It was coming into focus now, a humanoid shape but.. moving wrong, somehow. As if a rag doll had come to life and was trying to learn how to walk. I saw Cecil began backing away, chewing his bottom lip anxiously.

Ms. Harper turned to him. "Do you know him, young man?"

Cecil shook his head frantically. She looked back to the thing that might be a man with a pale face, before calling out in a trembling voice.

"If you're following this child, I'm not going to hesitate to call the p--"

Then that thing stepped into the light. It immediately became clear that it could not be, though it might have once been, called a man.

It looked elderly. Its face resembled, in a perverse, twisted way, my grandfather's, back when Ahmed and I would spend time at his place during the summer. But it was rotten. A piece of meat left out too long, a decaying animal upon the side of a traffic lane. It was streaked in black and smelled like a carcass in the sun.

And it smiled at me. It smiled a toothless, lipless smile with a shine in its sunken, dark eyes that suggested a sense of joy. Excitement. Thrill of the hunt.

First Cecil screamed. Then Ms. Harper. The smiling thing lunged, and Cecil ran.

No one would believe me saying this. Not now, not when I was seven and wrapped up shivering in a shock blanket, but I saw it. Its hand went through her like butter. It went through her stomach with no effort, like it was reaching for something. I saw Ms. Harper cough up something black and tarry, then Cecil bolted past us and all of us were running as fast as our legs could take us.

I felt nothing, except the sound of my heart thundering in my ears, and wind on my face as I sprinted. I could hear the others behind me. We were running to the woods. It was an unspoken plan, but we moved together as if we'd planned it in our trick-or-treating route. My legs were burning.

As we moved toward the safety of the dense pine trees, Cecil tripped.

He tripped, yet it wasn't like he was grabbed and pulled back by the thing. He didn't even land on the ground. He just… fell through as if there was no asphalt. Sinking as if through quicksand so fast he couldn't even scream, then he was gone.

Perhaps it was foolish to believe the woods could be our sanctuary. A suburb is no better than a forest if you're running from a thing that can see you from anywhere. But where could we go? Where would be safe, the police, our parents? All I could think to do was run, and soon we were surrounded by gnarled, twisted woods.

Ahmed's face was white and trembling, from what I could see. Jenny's crying was messing up her cat makeup. We held hands tightly as we made our way through the thick underbrush, unable to see any paths if any as the seconds ticked on. It was so quiet, so, so quiet, there weren't even the sounds of crickets or bugs. Just my own breathing, and the occasional hiccup from Jenny's sobbing.

We walked for what could have been an hour before there were snapping sounds behind us. The crunch of twigs underfoot from a someone who couldn't be one of us.

There was a lilting, horrible giggle, high-pitched and taunting, and it was from right behind us. I got a horrible feeling that we had never outran the man. It was simply giving us a head start, then chasing us down, a twisted game of hide and seek.

Jenny screamed and she let go of my hand. Before we could do anything she bolted off, headband falling off as she pushed through a thicket of bushes, and the darkness of the forest swallowed her. They didn't find her after five days of searching, but they did find a scrap of bloodied hair, stuck to a tree that had its bark stripped down to the core.

My grip on Ahmed's hand was iron. I wanted to throw up and run back to my mother's house, for the police to lock up the madman and take him away. Everyone was gone by Ahmed and all I knew was I couldn't lose him. I couldn't. Not my brother.

We came to a clearing. I couldn't say anything. I didn't really have anything to say, all my words had been stripped from me the moment the thing's hand punctured Ms. Harper's abdomen. Ahmed, however, was rambling. A stream of words was erupting from him like he didn't know how to stop, and I couldn't comprehend half of anything that was coming out of his mouth, it was so fast. He looked at me with a wide eye, the other still covered by the flimsy eyepatch, as round as a saucer. He kept going on.

He said something like… "The monster, we need to kill the monster. The monster." I heard his teeth  
chattering.

I couldn't even think about confronting it. How could I? I'd be incredulous, I'd have laughed even, if I hadn’t probably been going into shock.

With shaking hands he pulled out a Swiss army knife our father had given him. I remember the day he got it. It was the last time we'd spent time together, as a collective family.

"Don't use it irresponsibly," my father had said, eyes rimmed by dark circles and lines of exhaustion as my brother excitedly fiddled with all the settings of the blade, swishing it towards me with mock force that had me running behind my dad's legs anyway. "It's a tool, not a weapon. Use it only when you need to."

Ahmed opened the blade. "We need to defeat the monster."

"I can't," I heard myself say. I was ten thousand miles away from myself and watching my lips move.

"Then hide. I'll do it," Ahmed said, gripping the blade so hard his knuckles went white.

Every facet of my brain was screaming NO. Not leaving my brother, not him. Yet I watched myself stumble back into the grove of trees, finding one large enough to hide behind, and peek around the corner as if I were trying to catch a glimpse of a movie.

This time I saw the man appear. I was wrong before. It did not walk, trudging through the brush as we had. Instead, a diseased black spot appeared on a tree as if suddenly decaying. It grew to consume the whole side of bark, swallowing up the healthy vines wrapped around it and turning them black. A misshapen nose grew from this patch of decay, then a head. It stepped through this portal of rot as if it were entering a doorway, as easily as taking a step forward.

It smiled at my brother, mouth glinting white with teeth it didn't have before. Jenny's teeth, Ms. Harper's teeth, Cecil's teeth. My brother brandished the knife.

It laughed.

I saw a man on Halloween eat my brother. I saw a man on Halloween eat my brother, and I watched. All I will tell you is, it was as easy for that monster as it was stepping through the portal. Like clipping a fingernail.

It knew I was there yet it left me alone. I don't know why, I still don't know why, I sometimes wish it hadn't. It knew because when it was done, it stared directly at my hiding spot, rotted eyes wide and leering out at me from the safe spot I could be taken any time from. The world stood still. The worst few seconds of my life slunk past in slow motion.

Then it was gone. Like that. No evidence of my brother ever existing in that space, or that there had been an old man at all. I stepped forward.

It left my brother's knife on the ground. I picked it up, and then I began screaming. Or crying. Or laughing. It's hard to remember now, because the rest of that night is a complete blur.

My parents found me. I stayed there for the rest of the night and the morning afterward without moving. I was taken into questioning -- men in black suits regarded me, with neutral but grim expressions I recognized from my father. The look of someone going through an unpleasant, but familiar situation.

They were not the police. I thought… I thought they might have been you, but to be entirely frank, they were more professional than you by miles. I didn't say what I saw because I thought they would dismiss me as a stupid, hyperactive child coming up with stories about his brothers' disappearance, and then they let me go as if nothing has even happened.

It's been two decades. And tomorrow the special day comes again, and I don't know how many more of those I could take without telling someone. I could never tell my mom. And my dad, he's passed now, so I couldn't even if I wanted to.

It's funny, I thought this would make me feel better. It doesn't, but maybe it'll help you figure this out. Find out what this thing is. Find out who those people were.

Here's a personal request from you to me. When you capture this thing… _if_ you capture this thing… make it die. Kill it before it kills you. Because there's no prison you could put it in where it wouldn't escape from and start the hunt again.

* * *

Statement ends.

That was… rather gruesome, even for one of our statements. And with a higher body count in one recording than I've seen in five others combined. The fact doesn't bring me great joy.

Abraham Monson is currently residing in an isolated cabin on the Appalachian Mountains, with no company to speak of according to locals. To little surprise he declined to give us an update on his statement. Tim claimed he looked like a hermit, and considering the nature of this written statement it would be news to me if he looked like anything else.

It is, however, verifiable that on October 30th, 1986, two children went missing with no traces found by police or search parties. But only _two_.

There is no legal documentation of an Ahmed Monson in any registry we can find. I double checked the records Martin scrounged up to be safe, yet… no information. No medical records. We got in touch with Mr. Monson's mother, and she claimed to have no memory of ever having a child before Ahmed nor of anything of note happening that Halloween. Now, she's also elderly and currently residing in Larkspur Old Folks' home with a diagnosis of severe dementia, so it's not as if she had her full faculties, but with no extended family to speak of and the only lucid member of the Monson family holed up in a mountain cabin, I begrudgingly believe this case has no more threads to follow.

Though reports of men in black suits were particularly common around that year, they appear to simply be part of a local urban legend in Mr. Monson's town of residence. We're looking into it regardless.

End recording.

**Author's Note:**

> Police reports from Mr. Monson's town of residence on Halloween night, 1986 claim that other than the two disappearances (which were never solved) there was no other suspicious activity. However, around the forest where the two children were suspected to have wandered off in, [a black, mucus-like substance](http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-106) was observed to be daubed around multiple trees. It currently remains unidentified.


End file.
